by James Hunt
“It’s them!” he shouted to the group.
Angela pushed Martinez lower to the ground. “Take cover!”
She crawled under the car and pushed him along in their cramped confines. Martinez grunted in pain, but objected no further as rounds flew in the air, shattering glass all around them. Angela glanced behind her as she crawled flat on her stomach. The Outlaws had vanished. Only their cars remained. But they were still there, ready and in the wait.
More gunshots followed. The men encircled them, searching for weak spots. Burke turned to his right and fired into their advancing line, taking out three young militants in just seconds. They screamed as they fell, but their cries drew hasty gunfire that rained down on Burke’s position, riddling his car with bullets, but leaving him unscathed.
Angela watched from under the car as Burke rose from the ground and surveyed the approaching threat. There were five men on each side of the car, moving in fast. Angela stretched out her arms, clutching the pistol with both hands, and aimed at the men on the side opposite Burke, where several pairs of legs were moving toward them. She fired a series of measured rounds into ankles and kneecaps. The men screamed in anguish and fell to the ground.
Martinez managed to get in position beside Angela and fire a round or two himself, splitting open the head of one injured militant and shooting another in the face. Angela’s heart beat rapidly as the blasts from Burke’s rifle continued. Opposing gunfire tapered off as the militants rushing toward them dropped to the ground, injured or dead.
The van, however, was still in view. The militants weren’t finished.
“I think we’re clear on this side,” Martinez said, looking past the bodies lying on the passenger side a few feet in front of them.
Angela crawled toward Burke’s kneeling legs and stuck her head out, gasping with heavy breaths.
“What are they doing?” she asked.
Burke remained behind his punctured door, shattered glass at his feet, and kept his rifle aimed at the van as it backed up farther and then straightened out, facing them.
“I don’t know. But I almost have the driver in my sights.”
Angela ducked back under the car and then crawled to the front. She was already covered with dirt and debris. Hunched down, she called to the Outlaws. Hendrickson shouted out from behind his VW van. He was well hidden.
“We’re here!” he said. “Everyone is okay, but those bastards took us by surprise!”
At that moment, it seemed as though the militants had something else up their sleeve. The GMC’s engine revved as its bright lights beamed across Burke’s car. Burke fired a shot, as promised, directly through the windshield. The glass spider webbed on the driver’s side but remained intact. He fired another shot and got the same result.
“It’s bulletproof!” he shouted.
“Go for the tires,” Angela said.
The van suddenly charged forward at break-neck speed with the odor of burnt rubber in the air. A hatch on the roof flipped open as the GMC raced by, headed straight toward the cliff as though they were on a suicide mission.
Angela watched, stunned, as a militant, his face concealed by a hijab, rose from the top, brandishing what appeared to be a loaded rocket propelled grenade launcher on his shoulder. Burke fired a dozen rounds at the rear of the vehicle and its tires as the Outlaws joined in with shots from their weapons.
The militant at the top of the van balanced the RPG launcher as the van swerved from left to right, taking relentless damage to its left side and rear. Sparks flew from its axels as both back tires blew out. The van skidded across the dirt and stopped, inches from the edge of the cliff, but the armed militants remained determined. Angela stood up and ran toward the van, screaming, “He’s got an RPG!”
He wasn’t aiming at them, however. His target looked to be the front gate of the power plant. After an instantaneous flash, the RPG propelled into the air like a guided missile and blew the front entrance to smithereens. Humvees, soldiers and all were engulfed in an encompassing fireball that lit up the dusk sky in a crippling hellfire.
Burke stood up, exposed, and fired two shots through the militant’s head, sending his body twisting in the air before landing slumped over on the roof of the van, torn and bloody. Angela gasped and ran to the cliff to see the extent of the damage at the entrance gate. A distant alarm activated as the front gate continued to blaze. But as the Outlaws rushed out into the open, surrounding the smoking vehicle, the situation on the ground looked far from over.
Angela watched helplessly as three off-road trucks, filled with masked militants holding Ak-47s, tore through the perimeter fence, barreling to the flaming front gate at top speed. The attack was in full force now.
“They’re trying to get in!” she shouted for everyone to hear.
From their circle around the van, the Outlaws fired multiple pistol rounds, hitting it from all sides. Angela whipped around just as Burke ran up beside her, surveying what was happening below.
“Can we get down there in time?” she asked.
Burke looked around in a panic. “My sniper rifle!” He ran to his car just as Martinez crawled out from underneath, brushing sand and dust off his clothes. Hendrickson and his team managed to smash the seemingly unbreakable glass out of the driver’s side window and pull open the door. The stunned driver, a short bearded Middle Eastern man, was still at the wheel. The Outlaws shouted out in unison as Hendrickson yanked the man out and tossed him on the ground. He rolled and tumbled in the sand as the sisters, Tara and Taia, approached him with their shotguns aimed low.
“Search the van. See if there are any stragglers,” Hendrickson said, turning off the ignition. Three men rushed in, opening the other doors so that they could see inside.
Angela continued to watch the trucks’ rapid approach to the front gate as ground security teams, including two police cars, swarmed the gate to create a barrier. From one hundred feet away, the trucks didn’t slow, but instead, accelerated.
“Agent Burke,” she said. “Hurry!”
“What the hell’s going on?” Martinez asked, leaning against the hood of Burke’s car.
Burke was busy at his trunk, where he pulled out a long case, shut the trunk, then set it on top. He glanced up at Martinez and held out his M4.
“Take my rifle and watch our backs. We could have more visitors coming up that hill.”
Martinez limped forward and took the gun, angry and rattled. Things had gotten out of hand so quickly, he barely had a moment to think. “What the fuck? Are these the guys? What the hell are they doing up here?”
Burke opened his case and took out an M 14 rifle, long and black, complete with bi-pod and scope. Martinez’s eyes widened at the size of the rifle as Burke cradled it with both hands. “Probably searching for the same thing we were. A good lookout spot. We definitely spooked them.”
Martinez’s voice shook as he examined the dead militants lying around the car in pools of fresh blood. “My God. I don’t think I’m ready for this. I don’t feel well.” His face was quickly losing color as sweat dripped down his forehead.
Burke walked past him and leaned through the blown-out passenger-side window of his car, grabbing a bottle of water and handing it to him. “Here. Stay hydrated. Everything is going to be okay.”
Martinez gratefully took the bottle and guzzled it down.
“You just stay here and watch our backs,” Burke continued. With those parting words, he ran off toward the terrorists’ van, where two Outlaws—bushy-haired Jim and crew-cut Thomas emerged, carefully holding an RPG in each hand.
“Be careful with those!” Burke shouted.
Angela held a pair of binoculars to her eyes, watching the terrorist convoy’s steady approach to the front gate with dread.
“Burke… hurry,” she said.
He stood beside her and got on his knees, positioning the sniper rifle on the rocky ground below. “I’m on it.”
Angela turned to see a few of the Outlaws gathering near
a rock near where Hendrickson was standing, RPG launcher in hand. A few of the men dragged the militant driver over to join the others, tossing him on the ground. He pleaded with them in Arabic and was met with swift kicks to his side.
“We need him alive!” she said with force.
Everyone stopped and looked over at her, surprised and unresponsive. She gazed past them to see a man hand Hendrickson an RPG to load. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Hendrickson responded with a smile. “Haven’t shot one of these in a while. Let’s see who can take them out first.”
“I’ve got this!” Burke said, lying in position, eye against the scope.
Angela stood between them, unsure if Hendrickson had a point. But she had seen Burke in action and trusted his judgment. “Let Special Agent Burke handle this,” she said. “He knows what he’s doing.”
The trucks were dangerously close to the gate. The police fired at them, but were met with a barrage of gunfire as the trucks following the lead vehicle pulled up on both sides of it, forming a flank. It was World War III down there, and whoever was ready on their end needed to act fast.
“You brought me here for a reason,” Hendrickson said, aligning the front sight and taking aim.
Burke fired his first shot. The rifle blasted like a cannon and exploded the head of one of the militants packed in the back of the center truck. The drivers exchanged more relentless gunfire with the overwhelmed security team and police officers, picking them off one by one. Angela held up her binoculars again, shaking with rage.
“Where the hell is the military?” she shouted. “Why aren’t they posted here?”
Burke fired another shot, through the back of the center truck taking out the driver. The truck swerved quickly and crashed into the nearest police car, sending the militants flying into the air. The two other trucks halted as the men in the back fired at the remaining security detail as they fled for cover.
Just as Hendrickson steadied his aim, a new threat appeared on the far side of the plant. Another line of trucks—similar to the ones at the front gate—tore through the field with steel front guards bolted to the front of their hoods. The intention was clear: breach the gate however possible.
Angela whipped to the side and watched the terrorist team advance on their target like kamikazes on a suicide mission. Burke continued his steady firing at the front-gate team, sending the militants scrambling. There were fifteen, maybe twenty of them, and he couldn’t afford to let one slip by.
Angela spotted a bagman in the group, rushing toward the gate. “One o’clock. The man with the bag. Those have to be the explosives!”
Burke fired a shot through the man’s back, sending him barreling down in a bloody heap. He shifted his rifle carefully, side to side, firing upon the remaining militants. Five dropped in an instant. Then five more. A few panicked fighters eventually turned around to see from where the shots were coming from. Those who stopped were killed. Angela had never seen anything like it. Burke was some kind of machine on that rifle.
Hendrickson hesitated no more, took a step forward, and launched the first RPG, which exploded in front of the convoy, sending them off track as the trucks swerved around the blast.
“Damn,” he said. “Missed ’em.”
Shaggy-haired Jim handed him another rocket. “This’ll be the one, boss. Guarantee it.”
The militant driver tried to crawl away, shouting out in Arabic, only to receive another kick to his side by Tara. Angela couldn’t keep track of everything that was going on. Burke had seemed to take out most, if not all, of the team at the front gate. He paused in his firing scanning the area.
Angela held the binos to her face just as she heard the second blast from the RPG launcher. Startled, she dropped the binos and turned to the side as a furious explosion erupted fifty feet from the gate. A massive fireball flowed into the sky, red and angry, as though the sun itself were rising in front of their eyes.
Hendrickson had managed to hit one of the trucks as the two others flew past the explosion, determined to break through. Several of the militants fell out the back of the trucks as they swerved and increased their speed. With one more rocket left, Hendrickson wasted no time loading his launcher. He aimed just as the first truck crashed into the fence, tossing more militants into the air. The fence bent forward, but managed to keep them at bay.
“Allahu Akbar, you sons of bitches,” he said, launching the rocket.
In the blink of an eye, another massive explosion blasted the second truck into pieces. Satisfied with the front-gate situation, Burke turned his focus to the one truck remaining. It crashed into the fence, uprooting it at its base with tires grinding across the thick pavement. Burke fired at the truck, hitting a frenzied militant who jumped out the passenger side. He hit the ground as Burke continued his assault, firing two successive rounds through the rear of the vehicle. Angela crouched down, binoculars to her eyes as she watched blood and guts burst onto the shattered rear window.
The truck stopped, and for a moment there was no movement among the wounded and dead bodies. Burke paused as Angela remained fixated ahead. Thick clouds of black smoke billowed into the air from the fires below. The approaching sound of helicopters became more evident with each passing moment, underscored by the howl of warning sirens. The Cavalry was close, and they needed to make themselves scarce.
Just as Burke was about to rise up, Hendrickson fired his last rocket at the truck, blowing it to pieces, hot metal, rubber and glass rising in a cloud of smoke. He lowered the launcher as a wild fireball discharged in the air, and then he looked at Angela, then Burke, who glared at him with anger.
“What?” he said, shrugging. “I had to make sure.”
Finding Asgar
They regrouped and left the overlook, leaving the bodies of terrorists in their wake. At this point, Angela didn’t know what they’d say to the authorities if they were stopped or arrested. She only hoped they could get back on the road and evade them. Martinez sat in the back, tired and in pain, as Burke remained steely eyed at the wheel. The militant driver was in Hendrickson’s van. The terrified man was currently their only real link to Asgar’s terror network, as all the other fighters were dead.
Just like everything else that day, the surreal nature of so much death and gunfire had left Angela shaken. Had they succeeded? She was sure that they had. Were those trucks the full extent of Asgar’s army? The authorities would have to take it from there and find out. She looked ahead at the open road, a monotonous stretch of asphalt set within the largely vacant industrial sector. She took a breath of relief, but their mission was not quite over yet.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Some place we can lay low for a while and get some answers from our new friend.”
“You really think he’ll talk?” Martinez asked.
“I do,” Burke answered. “He just needs the right convincing.”
Martinez leaned forward, still in a state of shock. “I can’t even believe what the hell just happened back there.” He ran his hands through his hair, frantic. “Did we get them all?”
“All signs point to yes,” Burke said.
Martinez seemed irate. “You got the Outlaws all fired up. They won’t stop until they get Asgar’s head on a platter,” he said, seeming disturbed by everything that had happened.
“We need all the people we can get,” Burke said.
Martinez scoffed. “Hell. You were ready to go it alone about twenty minutes ago.”
Twenty minutes, Angela thought. Was that all it took? The firefight had seemed to last for hours. They were on the road now, reaching what she hoped would be their last target.
“I certainly was,” Burke replied. “But sometimes things turn out differently.”
“They sure do,” Martinez said. He then pulled his cell phone out, ready to make a call. “I need to talk to my wife. She’s probably worried sick. I can only imagine what they’re saying on the news.”
Ange
la’s attention turned to the radio for the latest updates. In a near-panicked tone, the broadcaster relayed the scant details of several explosions reported at the Dallas nuclear power plant. “Authorities cannot, at the moment confirm if this was indeed a terrorist attack.”
Burke spoke up as though he were thinking out loud. “You know, it’s possible that no one will ever know what we did today. They’ll never know how close they all came to dying.”
“I don’t care,” Angela said, studying the road map. “I just want this whole nightmare to be over.”
“Soon enough,” Burke said.
Up ahead, a long line of police cars came speeding into view, their lights wildly flashing. Angela’s heart stopped as Burke continued to exhibit nothing but calm in the face of authority.
“Shit!” Martinez said. He fumbled and dropped his phone, then ducked to stay out of sight. The cruisers zipped past them, going over a hundred. Angela could practically feel their force as wind gusted against the windshield and shook the car. Burke continued undeterred as the Outlaws followed behind.
“Honey, it’s me,” Martinez said into his phone. He paused, listening. “It’s okay. Everything is okay. We’re fine.” He paused again as she spoke. “I can’t say too much, but I’ll be home soon. I promise.”
Angela turned around, eager for a status. “How are the girls? “Can I talk to them?”
Burke suddenly cut in, glancing at Martinez in the rearview mirror. “You need to end that call. Use your head.”
Martinez paused, hesitating.
Angela turned to Burke, dumbfounded. “Are you kidding? I need to speak with my daughters.”
“Hang up the phone!” Burke demanded.
“I have to go. I love you,” Martinez said. While still on the phone, he looked up to see Angela glaring at him. “Um. Gloria. How are the girls?” He paused and put the phone on speaker, holding it up as Burke sighed.
“They’re fine, don’t worry,” Gloria said. “Very lovely girls. They’re sleeping right now.”
Angela turned back around in her seat, feeling somewhat satisfied. At least they were resting. Martinez told Gloria that he loved her and then hung up, looking at Burke. “You may be a good shot, Special Agent Burke, but you’re an even bigger pain in the ass,” he said.
